


I Got This Feeling That You're Going to Stay

by heartprince



Category: OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-23 23:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20897813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartprince/pseuds/heartprince
Summary: Glimpses of an unconventional love affair, starting from the beginning.





	I Got This Feeling That You're Going to Stay

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this fic prior to dendy's video channel because i could not get these dads off my mind and, as you presumably already know, dear reader, a lot changed since then. this fic's tone goes on a journey accordingly.  
(in addition to getting heavier it also got considerably hornier so, you know, please avert your eyes children)
> 
> my pre/post-big reveal fic [killer ball](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20039035) fits neatly into this but it's hardly required reading

If you were to ask Professor Venomous, notable level -7 villain, diabolical bioengineer, evil millionaire, and quite literally devilishly handsome catch, if he had expected any of this, he’d say no; assuming, of course, he had deigned to speak to you in the first place. 

He’d been doing quite well for himself, after all, after shedding the trappings of heroism and all its associated interpersonal ties. He had taken to the role with a sort of glee, after his initial hesitation, and proudly carried himself through his oft-isolating existence with grace and style. He was filling an archetype, some might say, and doing it very well. He wasn’t of the opinion that someone like him ought to bother with the same emotional pursuits of your average civilian. 

All of this is to say that he absolutely was not looking to get hitched. 

Now, it had only been good manners that lead him to dinner at Boxmore, and his expectations were thusly limited to more of the same dull bureaucratic politeness that had been bogging down every villain circle he found himself in lately. A boring evening with some forgettable associate to solve a mundane problem in his own villainy. 

And then it absolutely was not that. 

Dinner had turned into hero-fighting, had turned into a rekindling of their partnership, had turned into him going home frustrated and simmering in something he hesitated to acknowledge. Driving home, he gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles blanched lavender, the white noise drone of the engine and Fink softly snoring in the backseat leaving him trapped in with his thoughts. He gritted his fangs, and just focused on the darkened road. There was simply too much going on in his life for this. He didn’t have the time to let notable social pariah and notorious screw-up Lord Boxman occupy his thoughts beyond a professional capacity. Venomous was cool, and collected, and above all detached from the sort of entanglements that tripped up lesser villains. 

But good god he was attracted to him. 

The man was... strange, yes, but also a breath of fresh air. He was shameless, and emotive, and passionate. And, apparently, very strong underneath his lab coats and little suits. That hadn’t escaped his notice in the slightest. 

He should really just put the evening out of his mind. Sure, he was sick of the impersonal corporate attitude of most of his peers, but swinging to the other extreme so fast was just unprofessional. And asking for trouble. 

He carried a still-sleeping and oblivious Fink from the car to her bed, tucked her in, and made a conscious decision to nip whatever this was right in the bud. 

* * *

He couldn’t avoid him forever, though. 

Invitations to dinner seemed to be Boxman’s preferred venue for talking business, which was why Venomous found himself at the end of his dining table again, nodding along to an excited explanation of his latest project. Boxman had lit up at the chance to elaborate on the robotic creation he was handing off to him, punctuating his words with impassioned hand gestures and a sing-song tone, but he was much less frantic this time around. He seemed awfully flustered to be here with him (a fact Venomous tucked away and put from his mind) but not to the point of bungling the evening in any grand way. They were able to eat a comfortably above average meal in each other’s company without incident, which already put it in a different league from their last meeting. 

Some might even call it romantic. 

Fink has stayed home, and the robot teens were conspicuously absent, so some might also call the atmosphere intimate. 

Venomous would not admit either of those things, however. Nor would he admit to the way he kept raking his eyes over him when Boxman was too preoccupied to notice. Or to the unplaceable fluttering he kept swallowing down at the charming way Boxman kept rambling. Or to–

“Ah, Professor, I, eh heh, didn’t mean to get carried away like that,” Boxman says, cutting his previous exposition off after a while. “I wouldn’t ever want to bore you, you know. Do you have, uh, any questions?”

“No, that was perfectly adequate,” he responds, hiding a small smile in behind his glass. “I look forward to making the most of it.”

Boxman flashes him a sheepish grin in response, and if Venomous didn’t know better, he’d say the man was blushing at the faint praise. It could always just be the wine. 

“I’m very glad to hear that,” he says, painfully earnest. Venomous can spot his fidgeting hands even from this distance. “I hope you’ll come to me if there’s any way I can improve it.”

“Of course.”

* * *

The good professor’s resolve finally snaps, fittingly, over another dinner not-date. Not even two weeks after the incidents at the party. 

Boxman had called him over to bounce some ideas off him regarding their collaboration, though he didn’t have the sort of pre-planned expository speech on the subject ready that Venomous had come to expect from meetings with him. In fact, he seemed more interested in picking the professor’s brain on the matter than in having any of his own schemes validated.

Almost as if he simply enjoyed his company and wanted an excuse to see him, or something absurd like that. 

Venomous did have an idea or too, which he offered politely while picking at the unusual pasta dish in front of him. (Boxman’s cooking was proving to be very hit-or-miss, with the odds consistently looking less and less favorable) He skimmed through the basics of some avenues they could take with his bioengineering research, the sorts of things they could create with their combined resources, etcetera. It was all surface stuff, the kind of conversation suited for a dinner chat, rather than the diabolical scheming that had been both their supposed intentions. 

He was more interested in the minutiae of the man in front of him, frankly. 

“You seem... distracted, Boxman,” he says, propping a chin up with one hand. “Normally you’re far more talkative than this.”

“H-Huh? Am I?” Boxman splutters back, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I suppose I am a little out of it today, but, well, you know, I was just so interested in what you had to say,” he tacks on, laughing uncomfortably to himself. 

He’s a terrible liar, but a very endearing one. 

“We should take a walk,” Venomous sighs, feeling awfully antsy himself. “Continue this conversation somewhere you can clear your head. It’s a nice night.”

Boxman’s gulp is audible from across the table. He really is an open book. 

Venomous gets up from his seat without waiting for a response, slinking up and around until he’s close enough to offer a hand to his blushing host. Boxman takes it, just for as long as it takes to join him on his feet, but Venomous could still feel him shaking. 

He digs well-manicured nails into the palm of his own hand, and tries not to be rash. 

“Our skills combined go quite well together, I’m starting to think,” Venomous says as he turns on his heel towards the nearest corridor, resuming the topic at hand. “I think we should see that to its logical conclusion.”

“Y-You do?” Boxman stammers back, quickly following his clicking heels. 

“Yes,” He muses, still not looking at him as he makes his way down the hall. “You should really make the most of what I can offer you.”

“That’s the idea,” Boxman laughs, hurrying to get in line with him. “Being better together and all that.” His laughing is almost painful to listen to. “You know, I’m currently, uh, partial to the cybernetically enhanced biologically engineered henchman project you proposed earlier and, uh–“

Venomous offers him a glance, and his face is such a screaming scarlet that he almost feels as much pity as fondness. 

He is, of course, a notoriously unkind person, though. 

“Boxman,” he sighs out, coming to pause at the end of the hall, turning and propping himself up against the entryway’s frame. “Why did you ask to see me again so soon?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” 

“It is,” he says smirking. 

“Well then,” Boxman replies, staring holes in the wall to his left, “I don’t see why–“

“Boxman.”

“Y-Yes?”

“Look at me.”

Venomous watches him slowly tear his eyes back towards him with a predatory grin, unable to help himself. He steps back towards him gingerly, like he’s scared he’ll spook him, and the click of his heels against the tile is the only sound in the room. 

He leans in close to catch his chin with one hand, and lowly breathes out his next words. 

“If it’s me you want, you can just say so.”

The effect is near-instantaneous. 

“P-Professor, I, um,” Boxman stammers, “I didn’t think, I mean, I didn’t want to hope– er, _ assume_, and, ah, you’ve been giving me awfully mixed signals, so.”

“That was my mistake.” He replies, “I was thinking too much.”

“I think,” Boxman starts cautiously, inching closer to the man looming over him. “That, maybe,” he fiddles with his hands, even as he seems to be forcing himself to hold his gaze, “we both were.” 

A smile spreads wildly across Venomous’ face for just a moment before Boxman surges forward to kiss it. 

* * *

Professor Venomous, it turned out, was a good bit stranger than Boxman had expected. Venomous, his icy and sharp business contact, and Venomous, the man who had taken to smooching him over dinner, were entirely different people to navigate. 

He wasn’t even certain what they were, at this point. He definitely wasn’t sure how to go about saying “Hello, valued customer and partner and father of my in-progress robot baby, I can’t help but notice that we’ve had sex on multiple occasions, but you never specified if we were dating, and it seems a little late to ask.”

Romance wasn’t exactly his area of expertise. 

Of course, for all his charm and charisma, he couldn’t shake the suspicion that the professor was also winging it. This mainly had to do with the way he’d disappear for weeks at a time, only to show up on his doorstep ready to throw himself at him like nothing happened. And, to be fair, Boxman hardly questioned it. He was a little bit lovestruck. 

So things continued like that. 

And then life threw a wrench in things. That is, he was thrown out of his own life. 

He wasn’t about to immediately run crying to Venomous about something that he’d begrudgingly begun to accept was a fitting karmic punishment. He still had _ some _ dignity and was trying to reserve it for, well, pretty much the last person he could think of who might have any respect for him. 

This mindset lasted him about three months before he found himself in Venomous’ home. He had actually spent next to no time there prior, possibly due to Venomous’ occasional strange cagey nature, definitely somewhat because of the rat girl. Fink did not seem to like him much, and the man was just terrible at saying no to her. 

Still, there was something so domestic about being allowed in, even if it was with the caveat that it was temporary and a necessity. Buried beneath the flood of relief, the obvious response, he couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at the thought of being permitted this. He often got the sense there was still more to Venomous than what he’d been shown, and wondered if he’d ever allow himself to open up like that. He had never been sure if that was a foolish thing to hope for, or even something based in reality.

“There’s plenty of room in my bed,” Venomous had said, far more clinical than flirty, as he guided him upstairs the night he arrived, “_if _ you get yourself cleaned up, that is. Though if you’d rather have your own space, I’m sure I could arrange the couch accordingly.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to trouble you any more than I already have,” Boxman laughs sheepishly, like he wasn’t overthinking the proposition.

The professor offers him a bemused look before pushing open the door to his bedroom. It was… pretty much exactly what he’d expected, honestly, Boxman notes as he shuffles inside. Very sleek and modern, but with hardly any indication that it’s lived in.

“Get some rest, Boxman,” Venomous sighs, seeming to tread the same line between affection and pity that he usually did.

“Aren’t you going to sleep too?” He asks. “It’s pretty late, you know.”

“I have a couple of things I’d like to finish first,” Venomous replies vaguely, already turning back towards the door. “It should just be an hour or so, but I’ll try not to wake you.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” Boxman says. “Good night, then, and thank you.”

His smile actually reaches his eyes when he responds in kind. “Good night.”

Boxman goes through the motions of preparing for bed with a careful lack of thought, lest the surreality of his situation leave him lightheaded. They’d never actually spent the night together, either, now that he thought about it. Venomous always had somewhere to be, or something to do, it seemed. Always seemed so worried about keeping himself busy, or keeping his minion in line, or keeping an eye on this or that project. It was a little odd, how a man could consistently be so restless and exhausted, and yet come off as almost bored.

His last thoughts before drifting off to sleep, curled in on himself in dark sheets, are one part contemplating this phenomena about the man he’d grown terribly attached to, and two parts hoping he doesn’t ruin things in the coming days.

When he wakes up, the other side of the bed is still perfectly made, and he doesn’t know what to make of that.

* * *

It ended up being Fink who clued Boxman in to what was so amiss, actually. 

She scurried into his office not long after the merge was confirmed, early in the morning after her first overnight stay. He’d never seen the young girl look scared before, but he imagined this might be the closest to seeing that vulnerability she’d ever allow him. The normally rough-edged and knife-sharp kid in front of him was subdued, and serious, when she spoke.

“You already know I don’t love this,” she spits out.

“Good morning to you too, Fink,” he says flatly, reminding himself that they’d both have to get used to each other. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Fine,” she replies through gritted teeth. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

“Look. My boss is into you, you’re into my boss, that’s nice, I’ve accepted that, but there’s…” She trails off, staring holes into the carpet. “There’s something we’ve gotta be on the same page on.”

Boxman furrows his brow curiously at the tense child in front of him, quickly realizing that she’s not about to pull a mean joke on him.

“My boss has, um, this one problem,” she explains. “Where sometimes he’s not... himself. Like, _ literally_, not himself. Like he’s possessed or somethin’.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell me that?” Boxman asks, more confused than accusatory. Venomous had, for all the walls he put up to the world, been heart-meltingly upfront with him about his past once things got serious, entrusting him with secrets that no one else held. It felt odd to think he’d hide whatever condition Fink was describing but not his former heroism or currently estranged son.

“That’s the thing,” Fink replies, quietly, like she’s scared her boss will come in at any moment. “He doesn’t know.”

“What–”

“And he can’t know!” She adds frantically, cutting him off as she tugs harshly on his lab coat. “He can’t ever, ever know!”

“Ah, okay, okay! I won’t tell him then!” He assures her, something in him aching at the sight of her distress. For all her bratiness, he couldn’t deny the spark of fondness she’d left him with, and seeing her so upset was certainly unsettling. “Why can’t he know?”

“Because,” she pouts, “Shadowy told me that if I tried to tell him he’d take over for good.”

“Shadowy?”

“Shadowy Figure. That’s his name, I guess. It’s stupid like him.” Fink says, but there’s no humor in it. “I don’t _ think _ he’d ever try to show himself to you, but… I couldn’t take the risk.”

“I… I see.”

“You have to promise not to tell him,” she insists, bristling with the same aggressively defensive attitude that always comes out around Venomous. “I know you’re all gross and lovey now, but you _ have _ to keep this a secret.”

“I promise,” He says, and he does mean it. Skeptical as he is of a child’s understanding of whatever this is, her fear is clearly real, and he’d never want to endanger the man he loved without understanding what was going on. 

“You better mean it,” she hisses. “Grownups are always promising things.” 

Fink turns on her heel to scamper back off, presumably to wreak mayhem elsewhere, before waiting for a response. 

He makes a mental note to get to the bottom of what she’s said. 

* * *

Boxman had never been one to worry about moving too fast where Venomous was concerned, possibly to an irresponsible degree, but he did feel like he was struggling to keep up now, as a whole host of changes started passing him by. It didn’t have much to do _ directly _with him, or their relationship, but it did have everything to do with the odd family that had been forming around their partnership.

He knew the estranged son was going to be a whole ordeal eventually, but he’d given it at least another year.

It’s not like it was some random kid being dropped into his life, though. He knew KO, he was a good kid. A frustrating, infuriatingly good kid, at that. He was the most charmingly upbeat thorn in his side there ever was, that was the whole issue.

He cannot believe that Venomous was serious about inviting the tiny hero over to Boxmore.

“PV,” He sighs at the sight of him pacing up and down his study. “If you’re this nervous about it why don’t you reschedule for another time? Or maybe figure out a slower way to do this?”

“Can’t do that,” Venomous says, arms crossed, “already committed to this.”

Boxman decides that it’s not the time for a dry comment about his track record with his son. Really, this doesn’t come as a surprise, though. The man’s horrible stubbornness when it came to following through with his impulsiveness was something he’d come to expect.

“And I’m not… _ nervous_,” Venomous adds, tapping his fingers against his forearms. “Just thinking.”

“Care to share?” Boxman asks, leaning against his desk with the sense that the answer could either be one sentence or an entire monologue. “Because you’ve kind of been all over the place about this.”

He gives him an exhausted look. 

“I’m a little out of my depth here, Box.”

“Uh huh.”

“I have no idea how to approach this,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I _ do _ want to have a relationship with KO, but not at the expense of what I already have.”

“Oh,” Boxman says, feeling an anxiety he hadn’t paid much mind be alleviated, and it shows on his face. “Well, I’m sure it doesn’t have to be one or the other.”

Venomous slides into place next to him, effortlessly wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He looks unguarded. 

“Were you worried about that?” He asks. 

“Not… especially,” Boxman says, though the thought hadn’t been fully uprooted. “It’s nice to hear you say that, though.”

“This whole mess wouldn’t be so complicated if KO wasn’t a living reminder of a very different time,” he sighs, slumping over to rest his head against Boxman’s. “I can’t be the father he was promised, because that man doesn’t exist anymore.” He huffs a small laugh against his hair. “I wouldn’t want to be him even if I could.”

“Good,” Boxman hums, “I like you like this.”

Venomous laughs one of his rare good natured laughs at that, and his heart flutters a bit. He turns in to hug Venomous in earnest, relaxing against his chest. 

“KO’s just gonna have to take or leave having a supervillain dad, I guess,” Venomous says. “I never expected to care so much about a child’s opinion.”

“I think that’s normal, PV.”

Venomous makes a noncommittal noise as he continues to hold onto him, and goes quiet for a moment. 

“Hey, can you let him in when he gets here? It’ll be awkward, but not as awkward as having to see Carol myself.”

Boxman snorts at that. “You big chicken.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Watch it, snake,” he laughs. “Fine, fine, I’ll do that for you.”

“Thank you,” Venomous says, and pulls back only to dart back in for a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll try to stay out of your way.”

“Hey, I’m fine with this, it’s my children who are still in the process of being won over.”

“Then I’ll stay out of _ their _ way,” he amends. “Wouldn’t want to cause trouble there.”

“They’ll have to get used to it,” Boxman says, “if all this works out.”

Venomous smiles down at him.

“My priority is still this family, Box. It’s still you,” he says with shocking earnestness. “My P.O.I.N.T. days are ancient history, so even if I am trying to balance KO on top of all this, I’ll still always choose what we have now.”

He plants a kiss on his forehead, and Boxman leans into the touch. 

“I’m finally happy. I wouldn’t ever want to sacrifice that.”

* * *

Perhaps it was just his inner romantic, but Professor Venomous was never not beautiful in Boxman’s eyes. Of course, he was pretty handsome to begin with, but all number of explosions, and battles, and unflattering mishaps had never once managed to tarnish his appearance as far as Boxman was concerned. He’d seen him covered head to toe in soot, picking dirt and debris out of his hair, wringing pond water out of his lab coat, you name it, and every single time he’d thought the sight was gorgeous. 

He still thought him beautiful even now, clad in black, skin drained of color, hair wild. His expression chilling and dangerous and distant. How could he not? That was the man he loved more than anything. 

Moonlight glinted through the windows of their bedroom, casting him in an unearthly glow where he stood. He watches him run a hand from the back of his neck, to his chest, along his other arm, feeling out his new form, relishing it. 

Venomous had always seemed confident to him, so effortlessly in control, but this was different. The power came off him in waves, now, as he watched Boxman watching him. He eyed him like he was a stranger, like this was pure performance, and his throat tightened.

He slinks over towards him wordlessly, eerily quiet, offering a tight smile as he undresses for bed in silence.

“Professor Venomous,” he says sheepishly, and just to say something, really. “You must be tired.”

“Hm,” he hums, “Not particularly, in fact, I feel _ great_.”

There’s a strange quality to his voice, low and gravelly, almost seductive, but sounding as if it’s been filtered through something unseeable. The distance between him and the Venomous he knows suddenly seems insurmountable.

Venomous climbs up onto the bed on all fours, until he has Boxman caged in by his long limbs. His grin is toothy and predatory as he rakes his eyes over his trembling partner. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, like he’s chiding someone incapable of understanding their circumstances. “You always _ love _ this.”

“Professor, are you- um-“ Boxman stammers out. “Are you in your, eh, right mind?”

“Oh?” he says flatly, dropping himself down to his elbows so that he’s draped entirely over his partner. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been a little off ever since, uh, well, since you started trying to deal with this... this thing in your head.”

“And I told you, Boxy, I _ have_,” He says. “No more memory gaps, no more nights out of commission, just the dormant power I’ve had all along finally within my grasp.”

He tilts his head where it’s resting against Boxman’s chest, pouting theatrically. “Aren’t you happy for me, babe?”

“I am! I’m just,” Boxman says. “Just making sure it’s still, eh, _ you_, you know? I know anyone can, er, get lost in this sort of thing.”

Venomous snakes both arms around his neck and smirks dryly. “Are you saying you don’t think I can handle this?”

He finds himself sympathizing with the last thoughts of prey in the grasp of a boa constrictor. 

“No, I– mmph!” He starts nervously, before having his mouth suddenly occupied with a long, serpentine tongue as he’s kissed brazenly. He squeaks, and goes along with it for a moment, before pushing Venomous back, panting out the rest of his statement. “I’m just, I’m saying I don’t want to lose you, that’s all.”

“Well, let me show you how ‘me’ I really am,” Venomous growls, sending a thrill through him despite the creeping, unshakable sense that something was deeply wrong.

He kisses him roughly, domineering in his position on top of him, and Boxman lets him. Venomous reaches down to rub at his crotch through his pajama pants, and he lets him do that too, moaning all the while. He does nothing but submit to each of his movements as Venomous possessively works his way up to riding him, each action claiming and head-spinningly fast.

Venomous nearly shrieks with delight as he bounces himself up and down, head thrown back in ecstasy as his screams turn into a breathy, manic cackle. He grips Boxman’s sides hard with his sharp, near-inhuman nails, leveraging himself with brutal efficiency. 

Boxman whimpers from his fixed position beneath him, the sound of worry being smothered by pleasure. The sight of his partner so unrestrained for once sends a wave of heat through him, even while a voice in the back of his mind is screaming at him to get a grip.

He wants things to be fine. He needs things to be fine. Venomous’ blissed out smile is a shaky thing to hold on to, but it’s something. 

The pull to let go entirely is heady, intoxicating. No wonder his dear professor didn’t stand a chance.

* * *

Venomous watches through a fog as his own life goes by without him. In comes in taped-together snippets, like the clarity of his unique consciousness is bobbing on the surface of dark waters.

Familiar buildings crumbling and his son’s spiteful laugh, destruction for destruction’s sake. Fink’s increasingly despondent, glazed over gaze as she retreats further and further in on herself. Boxman finally putting his foot down, and the sound of his own voice forcing him out for it.

“So that’s it then. There’s nothing left to go back to.” He says aloud to the emptiness he’s lived in for months now, though it feels both shorter and longer than that.

“We’re free of everything holding us back,” his own voice replies from behind him. “Wasn’t that what you knowingly signed up for?”

He doesn’t turn to look at Shadowy Figure. He’s hardly sure he’s actually there at all.

“I’m tired of arguing with you.”

There’s the sensation of a hand on the back of his neck, not gripping, just resting there like a reminder. A chill runs down his spine.

“I knew you’d eventually start feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m you at your worst, after all.”

“_Shut up._”

“Aw, losing your little boyfriend really put you in a bad mood, huh? Don’t really know what you expected, Venomous,” Shadowy chides, phantom breath hitting his ear as he berates him. “And what a selfish place to draw the line, too.”

Venomous whips around, eyes narrowed, fangs bared in a frustrated grimace, but as he suspected, there’s no one there. 

“Give it up, Venomous,” Shadowy’s voice calls, still somewhere behind him.

* * *

In the end, it has little to do with them. The miraculous, gentle child figured out something his father couldn’t, but there was no one around to see it happen. 

In all his goodness, he wakes them all like from a bad dream, and everything is different, but the past remains. 

* * *

Professor Venomous and Fink’s return to the Neutral Zone had been an odd one. 

It had less to do with the act of theatrically dropping themselves back on Earth, though, and more to do with how the world had rearranged itself in their absence. It would be hard to find your place in a reality where everyone you’d ever known had already been gifted their happy ending.

(Lucky for them, that was a bit of an oversimplification. Life goes on.)

Lord Boxman heard about this odd return in a fittingly odd way, with a stern Carol Kincaid beating on his door late into a summer afternoon. 

“Where is he,” she’d started in lieu of a greeting, pushing past him to walk right into the main hall. There was no anger to her voice, but rather a cold, heavy seriousness that was far more frightening.

“Oh, uh, Carol, what a pleasant surprise, it’s been a while,” he responds while his brain catches up to the question. “But I haven’t seen KO since yesterday so I think you’ll find I’m completely innocent in whatever the issue is–”

“Not him, Boxman,” she says. “Where is Professor Venomous.”

“Huh? How should I know?” Boxman exclaims, thrown off by the first mention of his ex’s name to him since the reset. “He disappeared after, well, all that happened. Not a word to me, which I suppose makes sense, considering.”

“Oh,” she says, softening. “I thought he might’ve gone here.”

Boxman all at once begins to have a sense of what's going on, though his emotions on the matter suddenly feel impossible to parse. It’s mostly just a horrible, sinking feeling. 

“You mean…” 

“Him and Fink were at it again in the Plaza this morning, fighting my baby boy and his friends like nothing happened,” she huffs, arms crossed. “I had a few choice words about, well, I’ll spare you the details.”

“I can imagine,” he mumbles sympathetically, though his mind is racing. 

Professor Venomous was back. He was back, and didn’t know what version of him he was anymore, and he didn’t know where he was, and he felt overwhelmed by a horrible need to see him even if he didn’t know what he would say.

“Normally I’d say ‘you have no idea’ but I think you might be the only one who does,” she laughs, and he suddenly feels horrible jealousy at her ability to treat this lightly. 

She leans against the nearest piece of machinery and huffs out a sigh with a tired smile on her face. 

“He really left you out of the loop though, huh. I guess that’s like him.”

“Hey, you don’t have to–”

“Sorry, I promise I’m not here to rub salt in the wound, that’s not like me,” she amends. “It’s just…”

Carol rubs the back of her neck as she chooses her words carefully. Boxman notices the glint of an engagement ring on her left hand as she does. 

“I don’t know. You seemed different.” She says, cheerful even as something deep and melancholy seems to drip from her words. “I kinda assumed he was done being so…” She makes a vague gesture with her hands. “Cruel.”

Boxman huffs out a humorless laugh and doesn’t meet her eyes. “The man loves being evil.” 

He doesn’t say that he found that intoxicatingly attractive, but figures that was implied. He already feels like enough of an idiot without making an exhibit out of the red flags he’d sprinted towards. 

“Yeah, but there’s a difference,” Carol says. “Performance is one thing, and sure he’s obsessed with it, but from where I was standing… It seemed like he’d finally balanced it with something real.”

He still can’t bring himself to look at her. 

“Maybe,” is all he mumbles. 

“I spent a lot of time blaming myself,” She says plainly. “Thinking I should’ve been a better mother, or a better partner, or whatever, cause of shit he did.”

“Why are you telling me this,” he asks, already getting a sense that he knows the answer. 

“Because for a second there you made me wonder if I had done something wrong, all those years ago. That all this garbage could’ve been avoided if I had just understood something that _ you _had managed to figure out.” She replies. “Pretty dumb, right?”

Carol pushes herself off from where she’d been speaking, and puts her hands on her hips as she steps towards the exit. 

"Sorry to talk your ear off like that, I’ve just had a minute to think about all this,” she laughs, like she wasn’t just baring her vulnerabilities to a supposed enemy. “I should be going.”

“Wait, you–”

“Take care, Boxman, keep an eye out for him,” Carol calls as she leaves. “And don’t you dare get suckered into blaming yourself too.”

* * *

It was over a glass of whiskey that Venomous realized he was numb. 

Or rather, that he’d been numbing himself. 

Last he checked, Fink was snoring peacefully a room over, in what was becoming a half-decently lived-in lab. She seemed happier lately, with an outlet for her aggression and a caretaker actually trying to pay attention to these sorts of things, but he couldn’t help but wonder if that was shallow. He wondered how long it would be until she needed something more substantial than meaningless destruction. 

He wondered if she’d picked up the chronic stir craziness that drove him to self destruct time after time. 

Yes, he’d certainly realized that this life they had wasn’t enough. Shoved it down deep enough to ignore until it rose to the surface again, too. 

The hand of the divine, or cosmic, or what have you, handing him their current reality must have been more punishment than gift. Why else would this unbearable dissatisfaction, the poison in his mind and in his veins, remain?

He’d been in self-imposed exile for too long, he thought, as he downed the rest of the drink he’d fixed himself. The ice clinked pitifully as he set the glass down. He poured himself one more without thinking, falling back onto the leather couch that was more stylish than comforting. 

News had made it to them of changes happening at Boxmore earlier that week. This new world they’d been dropped into wasn’t so static after all, if people were finding ways to evolve. That must be the reason he felt so restless. 

He’d been trying not to think about Boxman. He’d done his fair share of ruminating on his wrongdoings, but that was the one that left him feeling gutted. He was the one person he childishly, petulantly simply couldn’t stand to think hated him, no matter how justified. Thinking back on the days they lived together made his stomach lurch, and his chest ache, and regret grip coldly at his throat and,

Oh, of course he still loved him. It was as simple and devastating as that. 

Venomous pinched the bridge of his nose. His thoughts were becoming sloppy and hazy with the drink sloshing through his system. Too much, right now. Honesty was still something he struggled to hold, like something that burned to the touch, and that went double when dealing with himself. 

“Boss?” A small voice squeaks from the doorway, pulling him out. 

“Fink,” he tries to say levelly, though his voice cracks with disuse. He sits up from where he’d been slumped, trying to conjure up the image of an authority figure in his current state. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Had a bad dream,” she mumbles, like it’s a blow to her pride to have problems befitting her age. “Couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“Ah,” he says, and reminds himself of his responsibilities. “Do you… want to talk about it? I’ve heard that helps.”

She shakes her head, pouting. 

“Do you want to sit with me a moment?”

She nods, and silently plops herself down next to him on the couch, gripping at his shirt like he was the sort of comforting stuffed animal that she always claimed to be above wanting. He quietly pushes his half-empty glass away on the side table, and hopes he doesn’t smell like alcohol. 

“Are you doing okay?” Fink asks, eyes wide and round, staring through him like always. 

Venomous forces a smile and pats her on the head. “It’s not your job to worry about me, Fink, but I’m fine.”

He doesn’t meet her inquisitive gaze when he speaks. She’s far too clever for that. 

“I don’t want you to be distant again,” she says plainly, and guilt tugs at him. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures her, placing a hand on her little shoulder as she holds even tighter to him. “It’s just that some problems are, well, best kept between adults. It’s not something you should have to worry about.”

She pouts, but doesn’t say anything, and Venomous is struck by just how small she is, curled in on herself on the couch. The task of keeping her safe suddenly feels both all-important and terrifyingly insurmountable, and he can only think of all the times he failed her. 

“You miss him, right,” Fink mutters after a moment, and Venomous already knows who she means. “That’s what you mean about adult problems or whatever.”

“I do,” he admits aloud for the first time. 

“I do too,” she confesses. “I’ve been getting bored sometimes.”

He snorts a quiet laugh at that. “I suppose it was never boring.”

“I know I don’t really get it,” she says. “But if you really miss how things used to be you should quit moping about it and do something. That’s unusually lame of you, Boss.”

“It’s not that simple,” he sighs. 

“Hm,” she mumbles sleepily, as she starts to nod off against his side. “Coulda fooled me.”

* * *

The interior of the shared Kincaid-García household was warm and inviting, if not a little odd, much like the three people who lived there. Their living room was cozy, full of knick knacks that had been amassed and then jumbled together over time. The couch was worn and lived in, opposite a coffee table with a politely prepared mug of earl grey tea steaming inoffensively where it sat. It truly was idyllic, in the specific flavoring of the Neutral Zone’s unique sensibilities. 

Professor Venomous felt like he was about to throw up. 

He was sitting on a kitchen chair, wringing his hands, as Carol and Eugene sat opposite him on that very couch. 

To momentarily backtrack, he’d conjured up the courage to set some things straight, and had effectively trapped himself into following through the moment Carol silently gestured him to come in from their doorstep. 

“So,” he says, voice flat. “I don’t expect ‘sorry’ to cut it here.”

"And you’d be right,” Carol deadpans. “But start apologizing anyways.”

Venomous grimaces. “I endangered our child because I couldn’t control my other self. You gave me a chance I didn’t deserve and I ruined it by overestimating–”

“Wait,” Carol cuts him off, “Start earlier. I don’t want to hear any pre-prepared excuses to get my kid back in your life until you cover your bases.”

“I’m sorry I ever played games with KO in the first place.”

“Earlier.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know we had a kid sooner.”

“Earlier.”

“I’m sorry I disappeared.”

“_Earlier._” 

“I’m sorry I let you think I was dead–”

“_Even earlier, Venomous._”

“I’m sorry I lied to you! I’m sorry I kept you in the dark, and hid how I felt, and disregarded you, Sparks, please just–”

“_Don’t you _ dare _ call me that!_” Carol snaps, teeth gritted and fists clenched in frustration.

“Carol,” Mr. Gar finally speaks up, softly placing a hand on her back.

“I know, Gene,” She sighs, turning to look up at him. “But he hurt you, too.”

Ah, that’s right, Venomous thinks. He did remember hearing that young, spineless El-Bow had shouldered the blame for his apparent demise. Frankly, he often forgot, considering how little the man in front of him resembled the junior teammate that left the least of an impression on him in the first place. Still, unintentional cruelty was just as bad. 

“And I’m sorry you suffered because of me, Eugene,” Venomous forces out, and they both turn back to look at him. “It was… callous.”

Carol looks so terribly worn as she stares him down, but hardly defeated. In fact, he recognizes the look in her eyes as being one of pity. 

“Look,” she says. “Laserblast is dead, and you may have well have taken Silverspark and El-Bow out with him. But no one’s mourning that anymore. I don’t need lip service to our stupid, showy old team, I need to know how you’re gonna live now.”

“That’s the part I still don’t know,” he admits. 

Carol scoffs, and he wonders if that was the wrong thing to say. He nervously sips from the mug they’d given him, the room temperature tea over-steeped and bitter. 

“I’m tired, Venomous,” Carol says eventually. “If you want to be KO’s father properly, then it’s KO you’ll have to win over, not me.” She narrows her eyes. “Not that I won’t keep a close eye on you. My sweet boy can be too forgiving for his own good.”

“Right,” Venomous says dumbly, feeling undeserving of even this. 

“I’ll have a talk with him,” she says, with a finality that conveys that she doesn’t want to hear any more groveling out of him. “You just focus on getting your act together and _ maybe _ we can reach an understanding.”

“Right,” he repeats. 

Carol folds her arms and leans back appraisingly, a position Mr. Gar doesn’t mirror as he continues his role as stoic emotional support. 

“Where’ve you been staying lately?” She asks, awfully casually for someone who seemed ready to beat him into the ground a few minutes prior. “No one can seem to keep track of you these days.”

“Here and there,” he replies. “I _ do _ have an image to uphold as a mysterious villain, you know. This is sensitive information.”

Carol hums to herself. “It seemed worth asking. I do need a way to find you, you know.” She quirks an eyebrow and adds, “No one’s sure where Boxman’s gone off to lately either, though he seems to be taking a break from causing trouble.”

“Not that it feels that way,” Mr. Gar grumbles under his breath. 

Venomous frowns. “We… haven’t exactly been talking, I wouldn’t know.”

“Huh,” she says. “I guess I assumed you’d go to him first.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Venomous tries to explain, but trails off pathetically, finding himself choking on the words. This meeting scared him less because, frankly, he could live with Carol hating his guts until the end of time. He wanted KO in his life, but simultaneously had doubts about his own ability not to poison the poor kid’s mind. This apology was like ripping a bandaid off, knowing there was nothing fatal underneath. 

But Boxman… The thought of him hating him, the thought of potentially facing the true finality of what they once had, was simply too much to bear. 

“Cowardly,” Carol muses, seemingly to herself, as if she could read his mind. 

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, it’s just,” she says, “if you really are serious about getting yourself in order, it seems like the least you could do is finally break this habit.”

She leans forward, resting her arms on her knees. “You have to stop running away.”

Her words echo crisply in the back of his mind, and he silently swallows. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Venomous catches movement around the room’s edge, and his gaze darts over quick enough to see just a glimpse of KO watching from the doorway. His eyes widen as he’s caught, and he rushes back out of sight. 

* * *

He decides that the cake feels tacky about thirty seconds after leaving his home with it, but Fink had been insistent he take it, and he knows that if he turned back now it would be at least another two weeks before he had the courage to make another attempt. 

He drives to the address he’d found in silence, trying not to lose focus of the dark, icy roads as he runs scenario after scenario through his head. He can’t expect anything, he can’t _ hope _ for anything if he doesn’t want his heart broken he tells himself, over and over, in as many ways as he can think of. 

Hope is stubborn like a creeping weed, and just as unwanted. 

He’s carefully vacant as he parks around the curb, and walks to his doorstep, and knocks curtly, refusing to let his emotions take hold of him, lest they poison his resolve. 

The door opens and it immediately crumbles.

“I…” He starts, and watching the split second recognition cross Boxman’s face feels like an eternity, before blurting out a painfully simple “I’m sorry!”

He’s hiding behind the stupid, tacky cake on reflex before he even has a chance to think about what he’s doing. Damn it. 

He’s not looking, and his ears might be ringing, but he hears Boxman’s voice and it doesn’t sound angry, so he lowers his makeshift shield and looks at him, properly this time. 

Not much has changed, and that’s what’s so horribly jarring. Boxman is looking at him with a tired, tentative smile, and the way it crinkles around his eye is so familiar, and so comfortable, that his heart aches where he stands. 

“You should come inside,” Boxman says, snapping him to attention, and so he nods dumbly, and does. 

“It’s, er, been awhile, Professor,” he says as Venomous steps awkwardly into his living room. “If I’d known you were coming I’d, eh, have made sure I had something substantial around to offer.” He wrings his hands, eyes flitting between him and their surroundings. “I’ll just, um, take this and put it in the kitchen.”

Venomous lamely hands over the apology dessert that frankly he didn’t think he could resent any more at this point. 

“Coffee?” Boxman calls as he leaves him alone in the room. “Oh uh, and just make yourself comfortable, it’ll only be a minute.”

“Oh, sure,” he says, “thank you.”

Mikayla had been eyeing him thoughtfully from her makeshift perch on the far armchair, but at her father’s departure got up and saw herself out. Seems she’d been taught enough tact to recognize discomfort of this caliber. 

Venomous took deep breaths, and tried not to panic once the reality set in, that he was here, with Boxman, about to attempt… something. He wasn’t sure, really. The fact that he didn’t get the door slammed in his face assuaged the absolute worst of his fears, but for a mind as talented at working itself into a frenzy as his, this was truly the bare minimum. He catches his hands shaking at his sides and knots them together nervously. Perhaps he should’ve turned down the coffee, but that would’ve been rude. 

The sound of a throat clearing makes him jump and whip around far too fast. 

“Here,” Boxman starts a little lamely, looking down at the mismatched mugs and offering the one in his right hand. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, careful not to let the tremors wracking his hands cause a spill. 

(The coffee is black, with an atrocious amount of sugar poured into it, exactly the way he always took it.)

“I’m not gonna lie, I really don’t know what to do with myself,” Boxman says after a moment, as they both continue to stand leaning by the mantle. “I’d say some warning would be nice but I don’t know if I’d ever be prepared.”

“I can just go,” Venomous blurts out apologetically. 

“Don’t you dare!” Boxman immediately snaps, eye wide. “I wouldn’t invite you in just to kick you out, you’re,” he looks pained, like he’s holding onto hot coals, “you’re here now. So. We’re going to talk.”

“Right,” Venomous says, and gingerly sets his cup down, running a finger along its rim as he collects his thoughts. 

“I guess what I want to know is why now,” Boxman sighs, leveling his gaze up at him. “I knew about it as soon as you came back, so why _ now_. Why did you wait so long?”

His voice is lilting up, ever so slightly, in the way he gets when he’s distraught. 

“I thought it was safe to assume you wouldn’t want to see me,” Venomous replies distantly, careful not to sound accusatory. “I mean, after everything…”

“Is that all?”

“Huh?”

“You dropped off the face of the planet entirely only to hover on the edge of society for months… out of courtesy?”

“I was scared,” Venomous says plainly, even as it feels like the words are being ripped from somewhere deep and visceral. “I was too _ scared_.”

He could never lie to him. His fingers twitch where they rest idly at his side. 

“I just couldn’t bring myself to face you hating me, even if I deserved it,” he says darkly, feeling more and more like a gutted fish as the admission comes spilling out of him. 

He feels horribly exposed just standing there before him. He doesn’t know what to do with his traitorous hands, itching to just take Boxman’s in his and drop to his knees in repentance. 

He resists the impulse. 

“Oh, PV…” Boxman sighs out, soggy with such apparent grief that Venomous thinks he might cry. “I don’t hate you. I never hated you.”

That throws him for such a loop that he stares at him in brazen shock, realizing all at once that he hadn’t thought to account for this possibility in his agonizing. 

He’s adrift and needs something to hold onto, but he mustn’t reach out.

“I guess I was just kind of sad for you, and for us, you know?” Boxman says, looking down at his feet for a moment, before sucking in a breath and meeting his eyes and adding, “that’s why I stuck it out back then, too.”

“Oh,” he breathes. He feels hysterical.

“I don’t think I ever stopped waiting for you to come back, really,” Boxman laughs sadly. “Felt a little dumb, if we’re being honest, but I just couldn’t… Let go? That sounds stupid, but–”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Venomous interjects without thinking, barely resisting the impulse to get closer to him. “I’m…Grateful.”

“For my softness?” He replies wryly, cracking a grin. “Wasn’t much of a choice and didn’t feel like a good thing, but that can’t be helped.”

Boxman shuffles his feet. He looks conflicted, but inches the barest bit closer to Venomous all the same. 

“You hurt me,” he says plainly, “and a lot of people.”

“I don’t have an excuse,” Venomous says, knowing that Boxman had to have known a fair bit about Shadowy’s nature, and his possession. None of that mattered, when the end result was what it was. “But I want to be better than that.”

It feels pitiful, to pluck his damned pride from his heart for once and throw it on the ground like an offering like this, when it still amounts to far too little as far as he’s concerned. He moves closer, dragged forward by the ache in his chest, but not so close that he’d tower over him. The last step is insurmountable. 

“I want to believe you,” Boxman says, looking up at him. “I really do.”

“Then-“

“Let me ask you something, Venomous,” he says, voice wavering ever so slightly. “Why did you come here?”

“To apologize,” Venomous replies, feeling his heartbeat hammering against his throat. “But, not out of obligation, because I,” he feels lightheaded as the words tumble out, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Boxman says softly, looking like he’s about to cry, but making no move to bridge the gap. 

He wants to take his face in his hands, wants to hug him tightly and never let go, wants to collapse to the ground and offer himself up, but he doesn’t. He fiddles with his own hands, standing tense as ever, and says, 

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, then.”

“When I heard you were back, the first thing I wondered was what version of you was out there now,” Boxman explains, with a strange sort of cautiousness. “I’ve just been left to wonder, even if you did come here, if you were the same you I remembered. And missed.”

“I am,” Venomous says, feeling short of breath. “For better or worse, flaws and all, here I am.”

Boxman exhales a short, tired laugh. “You really are, huh.”

Enough confidence strikes Venomous that he reaches forward to take his hand, but not enough for him to look up as he does it. He squeezes it, staring intently at the sight. He’s not sure which of them is trembling. 

“I’m back, if you’ll have me,” he mutters, awaiting rejection. “For as long as you want, as close or as distantly as you want. I’m here.”

It’s all he can do but say outright that he simply wants to be near him again, and is prepared to take anything, any scrap he’s given. It would be far too much, anyways. 

“Venomous…” Boxman sighs, wistful and chiding all at once. 

His free hand, rough and clawed, comes to rest on his cheek. Venomous still can’t bring himself to look up. 

“Figuring all that out,” Boxman mutters, “That’s a big ask to drop on me all at once.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Some things never change,” he sighs. “You’re still making things difficult for me.”

The claw on his face grips nearly imperceptibly tighter. He feels the barest scratch of the rough skin against his stubble, and feels frozen to the spot. 

“And I’m still...” he continues, trailing off for a moment. “Oh, damn it.”

Boxman is kissing him, pulling his face down and feverishly pressing their lips together. In his shock, Venomous loosens his grip on his other hand, going limp before he can process what’s going on. He tentatively moves his hands to rest on his shoulders, wanting him closer, but unsure of what he was being permitted. 

His mouth is slack and dumbstruck when Boxman pulls away, who himself looks frazzled and shocked by what he just did. 

“I…” he starts, “shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Venomous says. “Please, don’t be.”

“We should probably talk more frankly about this,” Boxman says, but sighs and collapses against him all the same, head resting against his chest. Venomous wraps his arms around him like he’s on autopilot. “There’s a lot we should be unraveling right about now.”

“In that case,” he mumbles into his hair. “I know that I love you. That I still loved you, and never stopped, and will likely still love you long after you’ve grown tired of me.”

“My dramatic professor,” Boxman laughs. “I just meant we should talk about how fast it would be irresponsible of us to take this.”

* * *

He’s surprised by how happy Fink is to see him. 

Not that she admitted to it outright, of course, but Boxman had spent enough time around her to know that the absence of outright hostility already meant you were doing better than most people. So for her to sprint up and hug him outright when he walked through the doors of the professor’s new lab was quite the compliment, no matter how unaffected she tried to act after the fact. 

He’s also surprised by how happy he is to see Fink. 

Not that he wasn’t undeniably fond of the little brat by now, but seeing her so full of her old pep, and so suddenly willing to direct it his way, filled him with a pride he hadn’t accounted for. He must be getting soft in his old age. 

“Hey kiddo,” he laughs, righting his balance after she had nearly bowled him over. “Geez, you’ve gotten bigger since the last time I saw you.”

“Pssh. It hasn’t been _ that _ long,” she scoffs.

“You must just be getting stronger fast,” he says. “You nearly knocked me right over.” 

She grins up at him at that, but without craning her neck the way she used to. As pleased as she seems to be with his conclusion, she _ is _ undeniably a not insignificant amount taller. It had already been a little over two years, at this point, since he’d seen her last, and she _ was _ getting to the age where even a couple of months made a noticeable difference.

“It’s ‘cause I’m just that good, Boxboss” she jokes, “Can’t have you forgettin’ it.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not about to forget that you’ll always be PV’s little brat no matter how old you get,” he teases goodnaturedly, ruffling her already unruly hair, and she sticks out her tongue at him. 

“_Anyways_,” she says, smoothing her bangs back out, “Boss said if he ran late to let you in, and he’s not back yet. So like, make yourself comfortable, or whatever.”

She turns on her heel and scampers off out of the entryway, and he follows her into the living room, quietly taking his coat off as he does. The room still has the same sleek, modern sensibilities as ever, even if the layout and furniture are all different, and it feels familiar and new all at once. Fink has already plopped herself down off to the side, and is turning off the pause menu on a game she must have left on when she answered the door. She doesn’t seem particularly strained in her focus, though, as she presses buttons on some sort of turn-based battle, so Boxman gives himself permission to pipe up.

“So how have you been, Fink?”

“Good,” she mumbles, chipping away at the stylized villain on her screen’s health, “I’d been getting kind of bored, but we’re finding stuff to do. Boss even made me start normal kid school last month.”

“Huh,” he says “Well, I suppose it’s important to have peers your own age.”  
  
“I guess,” she huffs, “it’d be more fun if the kids there weren’t totally lame, but it’s full of little goody two shoes! But at least I can get a kick out of messing with ‘em, so that’s not even the worst part.”

“Oh?”  
  
“He sent me to Lakewood Middle! I have to see KO and his nerdy friend saying hi to me every stinkin’ day!” 

It did make a decent amount of sense, Boxman thought to himself, considering they were pretty much siblings, to have them get used to interacting in a non-combat capacity, but he wasn’t about to interrupt her outburst with that. He did make a note to pick Venomous’ brain about it once he got the chance, though. He’d made it shockingly far without overtly navigating the fact that he’d been a father all along, though he supposed there wasn’t exactly a clear demarcation at which point the kid you’d taken in as a minion just outright became your daughter. It was hardly conventional, and all. 

In any case, it was best to let her vent her frustrations.

“I see,” he says. 

“They’re clearly trying to trick me into becoming their friend by being so nice all the time, but it won’t work,” Fink says, punctuating her sentence with a particularly strong mash of her controller. “It’s some stupid hero plot, I know it.”

“That doesn’t… really sound like KO, Fink,” he laughs. “The kid’s pretty straightforward.”

“Hmph. I know that. That’s why it’ll never work,” she says.

Boxman mentally adjusts his perception of Fink to specify that while she certainly seems better adjusted now in some respects, the distrusting child had definitely grown into a distrusting preteen. Not that he was about to extrapolate too much from one conversation, but, you know. The occasional worrying he’d been doing about her over the past months had made him more sensitive to these things than he’d usually be.

He’s about to ask her if she’s talked to Venomous about this, when he hears the door open.

* * *

Venomous never used to have nightmares.

Or maybe he did, and they were simply subdued enough that he could forget them with the sunrise and leave his bedmate none the wiser. He never used to have nightmares like _ this, _ then. The kind that burrow under his carefully constructed defenses and pick at him, wearing him down. 

They’re always about Shadowy Figure, of course. The demon he never got the closure of exorcising himself. 

The truth was there was no way to know for sure if he was really gone, when he’d been ignorant of his existence for years in the first place. Little things, afternoons he couldn’t seem to remember clearly, or days when he felt tired without a straightforward explanation, were enough to make his skin crawl. He tried not to dwell on it, he knew paranoia only fed the spiral, but he simply couldn’t _ know_. 

He was the only thing Venomous really feared anymore. Of course, it’d be one thing if he’d been some cruel outside force that had victimized him and upended his life, but he’d come into a healthy dose of self reflection after everything that had happened. 

That was him. He wasn’t in control, when it had all fallen apart, but there was nothing in there that wasn’t his. That was what terrified him so much.

The nightmares started not long after he moved back in with Boxman, once the pretense of taking things slower the second time around gave way to the domesticity they both missed more than anything. It was only once he got used to the comforting presence of his partner beside him in bed, once he felt secure, after everything, in the life they were rebuilding, that it became an issue. 

Perhaps it’s because he’d found his way back to the point where the cycle of self-sabotage tends to kick in. 

In his dreams, he is helpless. He is vicious, and vindictive, and violent, and _ powerful _– but he is helpless all the same.

In other words, he’s back where he was. 

He watches things fall apart again, in all sorts of ways, propelled by feelings that are and are not his. The cycle remains unbroken as his own grey claws grip a still-beating heart, plucked ceremoniously from its owner like an offering. Sometimes Boxman’s, sometimes Fink’s, always stomach-churning to look at. 

Sometimes KO stares at him in fear, sometimes TKO only offers him disdain, but neither ever want to speak to him as he tears their surroundings apart in both their names.

Rarely, there’s Carol, looking young and idealistic and so horribly naïve, the way he knew her. The way he stole from her. Looking vacant and listless in the face of the destruction. Helpless herself. It brings him no satisfaction.

He waits to be saved, to be shaken from his madness, but it never comes, and the carnage eventually has nowhere left to go but inward, and he slips under the thrall entirely as his mind is torn apart and– 

He wakes up, with a feeling of wrongness cloying in his throat as reality comes into focus.

“Are you awake…?” He hears Boxman whisper one night, not long after waking from one such dream.

“I am now,” he mutters back.

“You were talking in your sleep.”

“Ah,” Venomous says, and opts not to ask what he said. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” He replies, shifting a bit as he cuddles closer to him. “You sounded distressed, though, you have a freaky dream or something?”

“Something like that.”

“Hm,” Boxman hums. “I feel like you’ve been doing that a lot lately. Saying stuff in your sleep.”

“Sorry, is it waking you up?”

“Huh? Oh, no, don’t worry about that, I was just gonna ask if you were okay.”

“I see,” Venomous murmurs.

Even in the dark, he catches Boxman’s expression falter. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Not right now,” he sighs, rolling from his back to his side, facing him in earnest. “Maybe later, Box.” 

“Okay,” Boxman concedes. He lifts his hand up to cup his cheek, gently, knowing. He always seems to know just what to do with him, these days, and Venomous distantly thinks that he hardly deserves it. He watches the steady rise and fall of his partner’s chest as he slowly slips back to sleep, his thumb still absently rubbing comforting circles where it rests against his face.

He’s still scared to know what he might’ve said.

* * *

Sometimes Venomous asks Boxman to hurt him. It started in hushed, desperate tones in the heat of things, hardly planned beforehand, and pleaded in the gentlest way possible. 

It took a moment for the requests for pain to evolve into requests for degradation, for cruelty, for _ punishment_. But it began to, escalating with a strange fervor. And Boxman, to his credit, usually does his best to oblige, chasing his partner’s satisfaction even as something in his chest tightens the moment tears spill over. 

It took a good couple of back-and-forth’s for boundaries to be felt out. 

Tonight, Venomous is staring expectantly up at him with both wrists affixed to the head of the bed, chest heaving as he lies there exposed and untouched. His life partner, business partner, romantic partner, the self-admitted love of his wretched life, kneels fully clothed on either side of his thin waist. Boxman has to take a moment to compose himself every time they do this without fail, and Venomous wants nothing more than to encourage him. 

But begging would give the game away, so he just puts on his sultriest voice. 

“Come on,” he growls out. 

The sound of skin being struck is crisp in the otherwise silent room as his human hand connects with his lover’s cheek. Venomous slowly, decisively lets his head roll back into place, panting and grinning as he resumes eye contact. 

Boxman is a little hesitant as he strikes him across the face again, watching the subtleties flitting across the professor’s expression for any hint that he’s doing it wrong. He catches his jaw with his other, clawed, hand, and slides it down, possessively wrapping it around the side of his neck with a tense grip. Venomous’ breath catches in the back of his throat as he goes limp against the hold. 

(They had agreed that full-on choking was off the table, it simply made Boxman far too nervous, but he’d flirt with the idea of it for him.)

Venomous is gazing up with a reverence he rarely lets himself wear so plainly, eyes watery and mouth slack, and Boxman wants nothing more than to lean in and kiss him sweetly. 

He does the next best thing and leans in to kiss him rough and greedily, drinking in the surprised noise smothered in the back of Venomous’ throat. He lets his clawed fingers dig into the sensitive flesh of his neck and lets his body fall flush against his partner’s. Venomous whines as he strains against his restraints and jerks his hips in a vain search for friction. 

“Desperate, dear?” Boxman asks, feeling his self-consciousness slip away with the way Venomous seems to drink it up. “We’ve barely gotten started yet.” 

“Oh yeah?” Venomous breathes out, challenging. “You think you can break me?”

“Y-Yeah,” he replies. “I can handle you.”

Venomous purrs delightedly as Boxman unceremoniously moves to undo the restraints. (Smooth, silky ribbons the professor had acquired. He liked pain but didn’t much care for mundane discomfort.) He stretched languidly on the bed, carefully eyeing his partner, serpentine as ever. 

“On your hands and knees.”

“You’re the boss,” Venomous chuckles lowly, doing as he’s told. 

“A-Ah, yes. Yes I am,” Boxman stutters out stupidly, feeling his face go unbearably warm as the professor’s words send a small thrill through him. 

Venomous lets a fond smile slip out as he watches Boxman fumble through taking his belt off as quickly as possible, folding it over in his hands, nervously looking between it and the vulnerable man in front of him. Venomous nods, hoping to ease his nerves. 

“Are you prepared to submit, Professor?”

“No,” Venomous breathes out, even as he’s shaking with anticipation. His fangs gleam dangerously where they poke out from his parted lips, challenging him.

They talked about this, he reminds himself. 

The sharp crack of skin being hit is louder this time, leather connecting with the meat of his upper thighs. Venomous’ body jerks subtly as he bites back a sound, and again Boxman’s gaze is flitting over his expression. Lavender hands tangle themselves in their sheets, but aside from a faint gleam of sweat, his face shows no signs of faltering. He’s also incredibly, visibly, hard.

“That all you got?” Venomous pants, with the same near-manic glint in his eyes that used to frighten him.

Boxman strikes him again, and Venomous doesn’t stifle his voice this time, groaning as Boxman reaches to tangle a hand in his hair and force his head back. Their eyes meet, and Boxman can’t help but plant a quick kiss on his lips before pulling away. 

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” Venomous hisses.

“Hasty,” he chides “You need to be punished first.”

The satisfied hum in the back of the professor’s throat is enough to communicate that he was pleased that Boxman stayed on script, even if he himself was dying to just throw Venomous down and take him. His own body feels just as taut as his lover’s looks, straining with the effort of his own restraint, but the subtly blissful look on Venomous’ face propels him forward.

He’s methodical about administering the next couple of hits, easing into a slow rhythm. The welts bloom into existence as an odd mauve color, chilled human blood rushing beneath the surface of his purple, pseudo-reptilian skin, and he eyes them curiously. 

Venomous is practically babbling now, his aroused whimpers blending into repentant cries for vague wrongdoings past every time he’s struck. Repetitive apologies, admissions of badness, begs for forgiveness, the works. He slumps forward, collapsing down onto his elbows. Boxman catches a glimpse of tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and stills.

“Please,” he rasps out, hoarse and hardly audible.

“Please what?” 

“Once more, I can take one more,” Venomous groans. “Then you can give it to me.”

Boxman gnaws unsuredly at his lip and decisively brings the belt down flat across his partner’s ass. Venomous moans particularly boldly at that, and his resolve snaps, surging forward to cut the noise short with a kiss. He pushes Venomous down, flat on his back, tangling a claw in his hair and reaching a hand down to prepare him. Venomous is limp and pliant beneath him, and for once he truly looks stripped bare of his pride as he lies there submissive and teary. It’s odd.

“Pull me back up, take me from behind, I’m ready,” he eventually hisses, bossy as ever, though.

So he does.

Their surroundings become static in the corners of his vision, unable to demand his focus when his partner is _ here_, and putty in his hands, and making noises like _ that _ under him. 

“Fuck, Box, I,” He’s panting out, “_shit_, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be good for you, _ please _ don’t stop.”

And it’s so hot and worrying all at once, and Boxman is just so struck by how much he _ loves _ the man unraveling at the seams in front of him, that all he can think to do is grip his hips with a frantic tightness and get _ closer. _He presses his front flush against the professor’s back, unrelenting even as he speaks close to his ear. 

“You’re good, you’re good, you’re okay, it’s okay,” Boxman starts babbling, “you’re so good for me– fuck– I love you so much.”

Venomous promptly buries his face in the pillows, but it’s not enough to keep his voice from escaping, at that. Neither of them will last long at this rate.

“‘M yours,” comes muffled from beneath him. “I’m yours, I’m yours, _ use _ me–”

The words are ringing in his ears as he comes, holding close to his lover like his life depends on it. Venomous moans and squirms a bit as he empties into him, the only noise in the sudden silence. Boxman slips out carefully, and moves to gently roll Venomous over onto his back, kissing him all the while. He wraps a hand around him and works him through his orgasm, smothering down Venomous’ cries with his lips as he does.  
  
Kisses turn from desperate, to sloppy, to sweet as a calm begins to settle over them both.

It’s not until Boxman pulls away that he notices the tears welling up in Venomous’ eyes. 

“Wh- Ah, hey, hey, are you okay?”

And at the question Venomous crumples, collapsing against his chest, squeezing tight around his torso. He’s near-silent, but Boxman can feel the steady stream of tears leaking out against his skin, and the slight tremor of Venomous’ slighter, shaking form against his. 

“Shh, hey, PV, you’re okay, everything’s okay.”

“I know,” he forces out just above a whisper, with a strained evenness, “It’s just a– a release, is all.”

Boxman runs a hand through his long hair, petting him with the barest touch, as gentle and underwhelming as a man like him is capable of. After all this time, he still wouldn’t say he’s good at this, but practice has improved him, in much the same way that age has mellowed him out just enough to take the edge off. Venomous curls further in on him, letting out a hissed breath as he settles against him. 

His beautiful, flawed, complicated professor. He has a mind wired to devour itself and a taste for the obscene, a heart like an oil slick and a conscience too tangled to parse without patience. 

Venomous had been rubbed raw, but it’s not the physical indications of this that are leaving him itchy with discomfort now. 

“I really am sorry,” Venomous adds eventually, murmuring against his chest. 

It’s so quiet that he’s not even sure if he’s meant to answer. He decides then, to offer a more roundabout response. 

“I love you.”

* * *

It didn’t escape his notice that Venomous had been spending less late nights alone in his labs than he used to, a habit he now knew to be left over from the days where he shared his time and energy with an entirely different entity. It felt nice to catch little improvements like this, since Venomous didn’t like to give off the impression that he struggled or strained with his issues, even now that he _ was _making an effort. He’d probably scoff if Boxman tried to tell him he was proud, too.

This observation is why, when Venomous _ did _ hole himself up with his research long past midnight, he immediately got the sense something was amiss. 

Boxman had awoken at around two in the morning, after much tossing and turning, to find the other half of their bed still uninhabited, and quietly made his way through their home, coming to peek through the ajar door to Venomous’ lab. He spots him hunched over something or other at his desk, writing something down while running another hand through his hair.

“Professor?” He says gently, not wanting to startle him, as he lets himself in. “It’s really late, you should probably give it a rest.”

“Oh,” Venomous replies noncommittally, not turning to look, “yeah, it is, huh. You’re probably right.”

Boxman walks up to rest his chin against Venomous’ shoulder, peeking a look at his notes, written neat and clinically, but using enough shorthand and unfamiliar terminology to be nigh-incomprehensible. To his credit, Venomous sighs and melts back against his touch, dropping his pen in favor of taking one of his hands in his.

“This something important?” Boxman asks.

“I wanted it to be,” he sighs back. “But no, not really, just me running circles around something I’d already figured out.”

“It’s fine to take breaks,” Boxman murmurs. “In fact, I’d hope you would, we should both be asleep right about now.”

“Yeah,” he quietly agrees, and rubs at the dark circles under his eyes with his free hand. The smudge of day-old makeup is particularly pronounced in the lab’s bright, sterile lighting. “I got a little carried away distracting myself.”

“Did something happen?”

“Nothing major,” he sighs, but spins his chair around to hug him properly all the same, collapsing against Boxman’s chest where he sits.

“You sure?”

“Fink’s mad at me,” he mumbles into the fabric of his sleepshirt, “not sure how to deal with it.”

Boxman hums his acknowledgement, unsure from that statement what kind of issue they could be having. They were hardly the type to have fights, even when she did take issue with something he’d asked of her. Still, she was quickly approaching an age where the blind devotion she carried through her childhood would likely grow strained. Both he and Venomous knew that it was necessary for her to challenge that in order to grow up, but that it didn’t make it any easier.

Or it could be something mundane, but when was it ever.

“She didn’t understand why I wasn’t thrilled to learn she got suspended from school and it… escalated from there,” Venomous explains.

“She got in trouble with the school?”

“Rigged a classmate’s experiment to explode during their lab period. Got caught swapping out some chemicals in the science classroom after the fact. Pretty sure it was that smug boy she got in a fight with last month.”

“Alright, that _ is _ pretty funny.”

Venomous snorts. “Oh, it’s very funny, but I had to tell her that if she was going to wreak petty havoc at school she couldn’t put her _ name _ to it when she still needs a proper education.” He falls back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m trying to teach her the importance of knowing when to play by the rules in order to get something you need, but the nuance is still lost on her, she wasn’t having any of it.”

Venomous folds his arms and grimaces.

“She asked me why I couldn’t just take her out and go back to teaching her myself, and I told her I didn’t think I was qualified, and she asked me what I was a professor of, anyways,” he laughs, but his eyes are downcast, brows furrowed in thought. “I told her that giving her a high school level education was a big commitment, that I’m already so busy, you know the whole deal. And then she brought KO into it.”

“What does he have to do with any of this?” Boxman asks.

“I think she was just looking for an excuse,” he says. “She clearly doesn’t like that I’m giving him so much of my time”

“You mean... about once a week?” Boxman questions, not thinking it to be a particularly large commitment on his partner’s part. Not that he thought to judge it, the relative distance struck him as a healthy one, but the kid seemed about as present in their lives as he did back at the beginning, to him.

“It’s probably more about the structure, or how it’s promised,” Venomous mumbles, unfolding his arms to take Boxman’s hand again, like a tether. “She wants me more involved in her growth as a villain, but,” he gnaws at his lower lip, unnerved, “I froze up, I couldn’t bring myself to just tell her I would do that for her.”

He collapses against Boxman again, loosely wrapping his arms around his middle and hiding his face against him. Boxman rests his forearms on his back and rubs light, tentative waves with his fingers, giving him a moment of repose before asking the obvious question.

“What’s really going on, PV,” he sighs.

“I don’t think I’m particularly the best person to be teaching Fink these things,” Venomous says, quiet, slow, and deliberate. “I think she’d be better off with more… varied influences in her life.”

“But she’s always just wanted it to be you,” Boxman says, thinking of how close she always clung to him. How she gets antsy, even now, when left alone. How upset she was during the months that they try not to talk about. He feels Venomous tense up under his hands.

“I’m,” he starts, sounding strained, “worried. That I’ll mess her up if I’m too involved.” He shifts a little in his arms, but continues to hide his expression. “I don’t think I should be teaching anyone about power.”

“Oh, Venomous,” he breathes, hardly thinking.

“I don’t want her to turn out like I did, Box,” Venomous says, “I don’t want any of that shit for her. I’m scared I’ll poison her.”

The lab feels especially cold in the silence that falls around his words. Boxman pulls back after a moment, catching his chin as he does, gently angling his face up towards him. While not especially guarded, his expression is still carefully neutral, blankness belying the quiet ache of regret. The harsh fluorescent lighting leaves a sharp shadow over him where he blocks its path, casting his skin a deep, bluish violet. 

“You’re trying, though,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say to that. “That’s enough.”

Venomous makes a face like he’s been struck, but doesn’t say anything. 

“But you can’t just… distance yourself like your whole existence needs damage control, PV,” he says. “You’ve gotta keep trying, and that means being here.”

“When did you get so good at this,” Venomous says, huffing out a quiet laugh.

“I’m not, really,” Boxman laughs, and presses a kiss to Venomous’ forehead. “Come to bed and sleep on this, we’ll sort it out in the morning.”

He helps Venomous to his feet and quietly leaves the room with him. Tomorrow, they can talk about his persistent self-image, they can try to nip this round of sabotage in the bud. They can talk practical solutions the way they like, about sitting Fink down and discussing their family. He might suggest the intervention of a therapist, this time, or just a very frank conversation about the trauma they’re all carrying separately. They’re scientists, the both of them. They solve problems.

But right now, the night is calm, and they’re slipping easily back into the bed they’ve been sharing for years now, and the other’s presence is a comfort.

* * *

Their wedding day was, perhaps, the first time Lord Boxman and Professor Venomous had ever seen an opportunity to be theatrical and passed it up. 

In a twist for the ages, they opted to have a small, very private affair. Just them, the kids, and an officiate far enough removed from any public office that they wouldn’t have hangups about doing this for a pair of unrepentant supervillains. Vows exchanged in a secluded property on the bay on a quiet, overcast summer afternoon– exactly what the two of them had wanted. 

They had nothing to prove to anyone, after all, and to reflect on their relationship in its entirety felt far too personal to share with anyone they weren’t close to. It was too hard to explain to outsiders, and all. 

So, instead of a party, the evening found them giddily tumbling into a hotel suite bed after parting ways with the family. And an extravagant one, at that. Despite the modest approach to the actual ceremony, Venomous still had his expensive tastes out on full display for the occasion. It was just reserved solely for the two of them tonight.

(Boxman had laughed at how comically picture-perfect the rose petals scattered around were– there was just something inherently funny to him about playing along with the aesthetics of conventional romance when they were anything but. He did think it was nice, though.)

Venomous sighs contentedly in the comfortable silence, the two of them lying together, fully entangled, still in their nice suits. He reaches down to take Boxman’s hand, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to his knuckles, and the ring it bears glints gently in the warm light.

“My husband,” he murmurs, and giggles a bit to himself. “I can’t believe it.”

“We’re married,” Boxman says back, an infectious grin spreading across his face. “We’re _ married_.”

"How did I get so lucky,” he muses, taking Boxman’s face in both his hands, pulling him in to punctuate the thought with a kiss, “to end up here with you.”

And Boxman doesn’t have an answer, because he was nearly about to ask the same question himself, so he just kisses him again, and again, and again. He braces his hands against Venomous’ hips and just holds him close, letting their new reality envelope him like a comfortable fog, breathing it in.

“I love you,” he sighs, hardly thinking, uncaring if it’s redundant at this point. “I love you so much.”

Venomous smiles, _ really _ smiles, in the way where the crow’s feet around his eyes become suddenly pronounced and the gleam of his fangs doesn’t seem like a threat. He runs a hand up Boxman’s chest. “My thoughtful, passionate, wonderful husband.”

“My brilliant, strong, incredible husband,” Boxman parrots back, before laughing in amazement again. “Heh, I’m not gonna get tired of saying that any time soon, am I.”

“Well I’m not about to get tired of hearing it.”

“What next,” he says, pulling Venomous flush against him all the while. “We never did settle on our honeymoon plans.”

“That’s right,” Venomous says, “We said we’d see how we felt in the moment.”

“And? How are we feeling, husband of mine?”

“Hmm… How about somewhere tropical and far, far away from here.”

“That narrows it down a bit, at least.”

“Pick anything,” Venomous says, “I’ll make it happen.”

“We can figure it out as we go,” Boxman laughs, “We have the whole rest of our lives waiting for us.”

**Author's Note:**

> in conclusion: love is real
> 
> (also, much of the dialogue from the let’s be forgiven segment was cannibalized from the script to a then-unfinished collab comic, which you can check out [here](https://twitter.com/madsengland/status/1181240161402793985?s=21%E2%80%9C))


End file.
